


Wicked Game

by Mulderist1013



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Noir, Detective Noir, F/M, POV Fox Mulder, Post-World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:48:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26520910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mulderist1013/pseuds/Mulderist1013
Summary: Washington, D.C - 1948. Fox Mulder is a detective on the top vice unit; scandal, corruption, and lies come with the territory. He is forced to investigate a fellow officer and finds the lies go much deeper than the truth.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 9
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

Spring 1948

Adams Morgan, Washington, DC

2:47 A.M.

My nose burned with each inhale of fumes from the stale booze marinating in the hardwood floor. The room was dim but through the glow of red and blue neon I could make out shapes of furniture; chair legs, a few overturned barstools. It was a step up from a dive but not by much. There was a ringing in my ear like a schoolbell. I forced myself upright and felt a white-hot wave of pain crash into my right shoulder. “Shit.” I exhaled through my teeth and pressed my palm against a sticky wound. For an instant, I was back in that bombed-out jungle in the South Pacific, where an overworked medic from our company feverishly repaired shrapnel damage to my arm.

My fingertips found the bullet hole that punctured the thread count of one of my better dress shirts. Can’t wait to explain this one to my dry cleaner. The round might have gone through cleanly but all I knew was it hurt like a son of a bitch. My holster felt light and I found my gun about three feet away under a table in a puddle of what I hoped was discarded beer. I leaned over to retrieve it then I attempted to stand. Once I got my feet under me I found I was not alone. The bartender had a .38 aimed at my chest and a shaky trigger hand. 

“Don’t move!” he shouted. 

“Easy now,” I began as I put away my weapon and held up my hand, “I’m just reaching for my badge.” As I flipped open the billfold he saw the flash of gold then lowered his gun.

“Jesus detective, I’m sorry I pointed that at you. I’m just a little jittery considering what happened tonight” I nodded and moved closer towards the bar. “Holy hell, looks like you took a hit,” he continued then splashed a bar rag with some water and handed it to me. 

“Can I get a whiskey?” I asked as I slid on to an empty barstool, trying to clean off my hand. Wouldn’t be nice to get fresh blood on a glass, he’s had enough to deal with tonight. The bartender grabbed a dark bottle and a short glass then gave it a hearty pour. I raised it with my good hand and tipped it back, letting the liquid fire coat the back of my throat. The throb in my shoulder started to dull.

“I called the police as quick as I could,” the bartender told me, “it all happened so fast.” He poured me another and one for himself. 

“Did you see if anyone else was injured?”

“No. Anyone who was here ran outside. I ducked behind the bar and grabbed my gun. I suppose I should be grateful it happened close to last call.” I sat there thinking for a moment, trying to remember what I was doing there in the first place. A pulsing pain returned to my shoulder. The bartender’s voice entered my ear.

“You should probably get to a hospital, that shoulder looks pretty bad.”

“I’ll manage,” I replied before I finished my second round. I turned to look over my shoulder at the row of small leather booths behind me. Something about it seemed familiar. I could feel my wound oozing again so I pressed the damp rag against it and excused myself to clean up. When I entered the bathroom I was met with an unpleasant discovery.

Detective Jeffrey Spender was dead. 

Thick ribbons of burgundy and cherry red graced the wooden stall door like streamers from some morbid party. The edge of the sink had a similar splatter pattern staining the porcelain. His body was face down in a puddle that was spreading like the Red Sea, an arm akimbo on the floor, at least one fresh hole in his back. His weapon was kicked across the tile.

When Spender returned from the war with a couple of shiny new medals on his chest, nepotism resulted in his quick promotion to a detective position at the precinct. I knew Spender’s old man had connections with local law enforcement, not to mention his fellow representatives on The Hill. And now the golden boy was dead. Tragically killed in the line of duty; that’s how the papers would spin it.

I bent down to check his gun, one shot fired one in the chamber. It was quick. I moved the bar rag in my hand and gripped Spender’s shoulder, pulling him onto his side. I counted two shots, maybe a third. The acrid smell of iron was weaving its way into my nostrils as I crouched down and leaned closer. First round hit Spender in the right lower abdomen, appeared to be a close range shot based on the size. The gut shot wouldn’t have killed him instantly so the second ripped into the left upper chest to make sure he was taken care of. A third might have conveniently nicked an artery, causing more of the splatter. I craned my neck and saw deep red at Spender’s shirt collar.

It was very sloppy. 

If I heard gunfire I would have gone to investigate and perhaps the assailant ran into me as he exited the bathroom. _Did he use a silencer?_ _Why can’t I remember his face?_ I shook my head and eased Spender’s body back down on the tile floor. Slowly I rose and caught my reflection in the small mirror over the sink. I looked like hell. As I reentered the main bar the front door gave way to three flatfoots and Captain Walter Skinner. He advanced and holstered his sidearm.

“Detective Mulder.”

“Sir,” I said wearily with a nod. He briefly noticed my injury then jumped right into the interrogation.

“What happened?”

“I’m a little foggy on the details but I remember following Detective Spender here.”

“And where exactly is Spender?” Skinner asked. I leaned against a booth and placed a hand on my neck.

“You’ll find him on the bathroom floor.” I saw the captain’s eyes narrow and he brushed past me. He nudged the door open with his elbow and surveyed the fresh crime scene, he then motioned for a uniform and gave instructions. The young cop hastily scratched everything down on a small notepad, tipped his cap, and left through the front door. 

“Did he tell you to meet him?” Skinner asked as he moved in front of me.

“No.”

“How did you know he’d be here?” 

I thought for a moment. Certain details were coming back to me.

“I believe Detective Spender was following up on a lead from a mutual informant. We agreed on a meeting to get info about one of Vincenti’s heroin drops. Spender was impatient and wanted to meet tonight. I wasn’t too keen on the idea.” I winced as I shifted my right arm. The whiskey I had was wearing off. 

“The commissioner is going to demand answers when he finds out Spender was murdered,” Skinner said as he adjusted his glasses.

“Well I’m sure he’s more than eager to crucify me,” I said. 

“Cut the melodrama.” Skinner responded. “I’ll finish up here. Go find Officer Pendrell outside and have him take you over to the hospital. Get patched up, get some sleep, then I want to see you back at the precinct.”

I held up my hands in acceptance and walked to the door, making sure to thank the bartender for the nightcap on my way out. 

Officer Pendrell took a long drag off his cigarette then let it drop on the sidewalk, stubbing it out with the toe of his shoe. I cleared my throat and said, “Captain said you could give me a ride.”

“Jesus Mulder--” he exclaimed with a plume of smoke into the night air.

“I just need some repairs.” I said with a nod to my right arm. “Skinner said you could give me a lift to Washington General.”

“Yeah sure,” Pendrell opened the passenger door for me and as I got situated he entered from the driver’s side. “What happened in there, Mulder?”

“Spender’s dead.” It was blunt but I was exhausted. “Not much else to say, though I’m sure the precinct will hear about it in a few hours.” I could feel Pendrell tense up as we drove. I flexed and opened the fingers on my right hand. The slight tingling sensation was reassuring that the nerve damage wasn’t permanent. At least that’s what I was telling myself. 

  
  
  


Washington General Hospital

3:55am

Pendrell pulled the squad car up to the emergency department and practically shoved me out the door. Guess he didn’t want me bleeding on government upholstery. I made my way inside and squinted against the harsh lighting. I spied the petite nurse behind the desk.

“Ma’am,” I began as I fished out my badge and approached, “I’m Detective Fox Mulder and I could use some help.” She rose and quickly walked around then gave me the once over, her fingers delicately reached for my good arm. 

“Let’s get you back, detective. My name is Dana,” she said as she ushered me down a short hallway and into an open room with several beds. I could feel my chest tighten at the sight of the drawn white curtains. Too many bad memories hidden behind those white curtains. A moan came from a shadow on one of the beds and thankfully she sat me down a few beds over. 

“You’ve lost a fair amount of blood. Do you feel dizzy or nauseous?” Dana asked as she pulled out a notepad. I shook my head. “Detective Mulder can I get your date of birth?”

“October 13, 1914.”

I watched her write the numbers down with what I presumed was immaculate handwriting, unlike the doctors she worked under. 

“What happened tonight, detective?”

“I took a hit to the right shoulder, not sure if it was a clean shot. The assailant got away.”

Two fingertips with red nail varnish touched the underside of my wrist and she glanced at a small watch fob, calculating my pulse. I saw her note the result on her notepad before pocketing it. She placed a hand on my shoulder as she reached for a nearby medical tray. It had an array of metal instruments, a basin, some bottles, and what looked like bandages. She slid it closer to the bedside and I straightened my posture. I could feel the fabric of my shirt sticking to the clotted blood on my shoulder. Dana turned to pick up a small stool and place it in front of me. She took a white cloth from the tray and splashed it with a liquid from a brown bottle. 

“Can you remove your shirt?” she asked

“Yeah I can try,” I replied. My left fingers fumbled with the buttons and I forced my right hand to finish the job. I winced then exhaled sharply. 

“Here, let me help.” She said as she placed the cloth down on the tray.

“Usually I’m offered a drink first,” I quiped weakly.

“Well from what I can tell, someone beat me to it.” the redhead said with a grin as she peeled open my shirt. I freed my left arm but hesitated with the right. It looked like I had a few too many and tried to get dressed; sitting there in my white sleeveless shirt with my dress shirt hanging on one arm. Dana reached for the damp cloth and held it on my shoulder, attempting to soften the skin. It was a nice gesture. Any other medic would have just ripped the damn thing off taking a layer of skin with it. I could feel her eyes sweep over my chest like a searchlight looking for damage. She gently stripped down the sleeve and placed the bloody shirt beside me on the bed. Dana leaned me slightly forward.

“Looks like it’s your lucky day Detective. The bullet passed right through.” 

Her bedside manor had won me over. I felt the cool cloth on the back of my shoulder as she cleaned the exit wound.

“You can call me Mulder.”

She playfully inquired, “Why not Fox?” as she sat on the stool in front of me.

“Even though it’s my first name I rarely use it. The Marines made quick work of that.” I saw a hint of a smile as she readied her suture tools. 

“And what’s  _ your _ last name?” I asked in a feeble attempt at small talk. With a squint she quickly pierced the eye of the needle with a dark thread. 

“Scully,” she said, humoring me. “This will sting a little,” she cautioned. I failed in containing a wince from the all too familiar sensation of thread pulling flesh. Battlefield to back alley, I have scars laid out like a roadmap of my career. She worked quickly, weaving the filament like she was darning socks. I felt a sharp tug as she finished her last stitch. She covered her handiwork with a white bandage.

“Halfway there,” she stated as she stood to fix the back of my shoulder. She might have said something to me but I couldn’t make it out. I hated to admit it but I was transfixed. Her presence was like an anesthetic and I was numb in the best possible way. The final pull for the final stitch. She recited care instructions to me the same way a professor would read from a textbook. I pretended to listen as I opened and closed my right hand once again. She slid the tray aside and I rose to my feet.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, holding up a hand in case I toppled over.

“I’m going back to the precinct.” I said as I folded my dress shirt over my arm.

“That’s against medical advice. Advice I just gave you. Will you please sit back down?”

“I can’t stay here tonight.”

She folded her arms.

“Is there someone I can call?” she asked. I thought if there was a favor I could collect but no one came to mind. It was probably best for me to sleep it off at my apartment.

“A cab. I’m going home.” Scully shook her head and led me back down the corridor towards the nurse’s desk. I readjusted my holster across my chest and stretched my left arm. She dialed the operator with one pull on the rotary. 

“Hello, I’d like to request a taxi to Washington General for one of our discharged patients. Thank you.” She hung up the receiver and told me the cab would be here soon. “Be careful out there, Mulder.” 

I smiled and slipped back into my shirt, leaving it unbuttoned.

“Thank you, Scully.” 

She shook her head.

“I don’t know if I’d ever get used to that.” 

I watched her walk down the hall, graceful fingertips smoothed a strand of hair behind her ear. She left me with the echo of heels on the hard floor.

I stepped outside the emergency room doors and inhaled an unexpected cloud of tobacco. As I coughed I looked for the source and saw a man, possibly a wino in a white jacket holding a cigarette. He gave me a puzzled look then said in a gravelly voice,

“Hey, are you a cop?”

“A detective actually.” I responded with an annoyed exhale.

“Oh. Well, you look like a cop.”

“Are you a doctor?” I countered. He took a drag.

“No. I found this jacket in the garbage out back.” Before I could respond the vagrant laughed loudly then took off down the alley. On any other night I would have given chase, but I was too tired for additional bullshit. Let the beat cops have him. 

Finally my taxi arrived and I was on my way home.


	2. Chapter 2

U Street NW

3rd District 

11:00am

I tried to tell myself I was rested, but that was a lie. Insomnia is a bitch and she makes a hell of a bedfellow. I couldn’t be bothered with the percolator in my apartment, though day old coffee hadn’t stopped me before. I didn't bother shaving, instead deciding to give my five o’clock shadow an extra half hour. My dress shirt lightly concealed the white bandage on my shoulder and I found a set of grey pants and matching suit jacket. I remembered my raw brimmed fedora and locked the door behind me. I debated whether or not to take the car but I didn’t want to deal with public transit this afternoon. The starter on the Pontiac needed a wake up call and after some persuading I made my way out of Alexandria.

I drove across the bridge and further into the district, stopping about a block away from the precinct so I could hop into the corner diner. I needed a decent cup of joe and some bacon and eggs. Sure it was almost lunch but I hadn’t eaten breakfast yet. 

When I arrived at headquarters the bullpen was buzzing like a hornet’s nest. I removed my hat and took a seat at my desk. My shoulder burned and I felt the stitches pull slightly as I reached down to unearth a group of files from a bottom drawer. I winced as I placed everything I had on Vincenti atop my desk. From behind the stack of papers I watched a parade of suits and uniforms flow in and out of the captain’s office. A cloud of Morley cigarette smoke signaled each time the door opened or closed; it reminded me of how they choose the Pope in the Vatican. I was waiting for that smoke to turn black when I saw Skinner in the doorway. His eyes narrowed and he flicked two fingers like an impatient father. I gathered the assortment of files I was reviewing and brushed past the remaining uniforms that were heading back downstairs.

“Nice of you to join the party, Mulder.”

“Well after my patch job I decided to take a powder and take my phone off the hook. My shoulder is fine by the way.” Skinner took a seat behind his desk and asked me to close the door.

“Funeral arrangements have been made at Arlington. We’re still waiting to receive the final report from the coroner. This of course will tell me  _ how _ he died but I want to know why. I know you and Detective Spender had been working for some time on the Vincenti ring.”

“Well you did make it a top priority for vice if I’m not mistaken. At the request of the mayor?” I questioned as I glanced at a crowded ashtray then lowered into one of Skinner’s leather chairs.

“Last year, the mayor asked the commissioner for help decreasing drug related crime in the district. And this precinct’s vice squad had a no-nonsense reputation which the commissioner spoke so highly of.” Skinner stated as he pressed back in his chair. “I assume those files you have are related to the case?”

I handed him the papers.

“Since you gave us this assignment, Spender and I discovered Vincenti likes to run operations out of the Navy Yard. Spender wanted to find an informant, or at least pressure someone into being an informant. We staked out a flophouse near the old factory and watched for any dealings. Saw a street-savvy kid who looked like an easy mark and followed him. I remember Spender turning on the bad cop routine and pinned the kid to the wall. We told him he could stay anonymous but he gave us a name; Dimitri Kristoff.”

“A Russian?” Skinner questioned with a raised eyebrow.

“A Russian alias. He gave us that and a phone number,” I replied with a shrug, “At the time, the less we knew the better. Spender may have contacted him and pushed for more info. Eventually we were able to build a file on our friend Dimitri.”

“That might give a little more motive for Spender’s murder,” Skinner stated as he leafed through the file, “Do you think Spender was sold a bad tip or do you suspect the kid?” 

“If Spender was dealt a bad hand he must have kept it pretty close to his chest. We were partners but I personally wasn’t very close to him. I kept Dimitri at arm’s length and I don’t think he’d squeal. You could stake my no-nonsense reputation on it.” I replied as I shifted in my seat, “Frankly if the kid knows what’s good for him he would get out of the game all together.”

“Admirable,” Skinner said while he closed the file and placed it back on top of the stack. I could see the wheels in his head turning, grinding as he tried to rearrange the puzzle pieces. He removed his wire-frame glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. There was something itching at the back of my head.

“Sir. Can I speak off the record?”

“What is it?”

“I think Spender might have gotten in too deep with Vincenti.”

“Do you think he was working for him?”

“Not directly but he might have been pulling a side job. Thinking he could take a little off the top and offer the precinct’s blind eye as collateral.” 

“He wouldn’t have been that stupid, Mulder. He wasn’t a green recruit fresh out of the academy. He had several years climbing the ranks before getting in with the vice unit. Not to mention his military history.”

“Absolute power corrupts absolutely, sir. He also has connections to The Hill and  _ those _ connections have mob ties.”

Skinner leaned forward on his desk and put his glasses back on. I could see the wheels turning again. 

“Surveillance can post-up in one of the abandoned warehouses at the Navy Yard and gather more intel, see if Vincenti makes an appearance. They’ll be coming out of the woodwork once this hits the papers. In the meantime I want you to find your junior informant and bring him in for questioning.”

I rose from my seat and reached for my files with a wince and headed towards the door. 

“And Mulder,” Skinner began before I had a chance to leave, “it will be military dress blues for Arlington. Regardless of your opinion, the precinct lost a man with high honors.”

I nodded in response and headed back into the fray, closing the door behind me. I weaved back to my desk, dropped the files, and searched in my drawer for a memo with Dimitri’s phone number.

I listened to the phone ring on a seemingly endless loop, the long shrill sound reverberated in my left ear and I could feel my eyelids get heavy. The ring evolved into white noise and I was one dim chime away from disconnecting the call when I heard the receiver click on the other end.

“You’re lucky I’m a patient man, Dimitri,” I started as I tried to stifle a yawn, “we need to arrange a meeting.”

“I don’t know if I can do that,” he responded.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, detective, I’m no good to you. My sources are as dry as the Sahara.”

“Is that so?” I questioned as I switched the phone to my opposite ear. “Well how about we just meet for a coffee.”

“That’s sweet detective but lunch dates aren’t really my style. I like something with a bit more spirit if you catch my meaning.”

“Fine. I can meet you in the nearest alley and serve up my fist to your goddamn nose. That spirited enough for you?” I heard him laugh through the phone, my fingers tightened on the receiver. “Georgetown University library. I’m giving you three hours.”

“You gonna have a carnation on your lapel so I know it’s you?”

“Try a grey fedora and a pissed off look on my face.”

And I ended the conversation then left the office to get something to eat. 

  
  


3:35pm

Georgetown’s gothic spires, stonework, and green fields reminded me of my stint at Oxford. My professors felt that I could use more than a State-side education and my father agreed. He shipped me off to England hoping I would return top of my class. I studied psychology, took in the local pubs, local women, and managed a little bit of travel. After completing my academics I knew I wanted to return to Europe. However, in 1941 I was shipped off to the Pacific in a crisp Marine Corps uniform. Never got to see the Old World before things changed. 

I found a bench near the library at the edge of campus and checked my watch. Some students took their studies outside due to the favorable weather. 

Springtime in the city. 

I surveyed the quad: A male student was more focused on a small group of chatty sweater girls than his textbooks, a professor struggled with a satchel as he hurried into a nearby building. I clocked a young man in a pork pie hat headed my direction but he stopped suddenly to retrieve a gauzy scarf that was snatched by the breeze. He caught up with the shapely owner and said something to make her smile. The man adjusted his hat and continued towards me. 

“Nice weather isn’t it?” he began, “Spring is truly in the air and the winds of change are a-blowin’.”

“Dimitri?”

“One in the same, detective.”

“I take it you’ve heard?”

“It hasn’t made the papers, but yes,” he replied as he took a seat on the far end of the bench. I fixed the brim of my fedora as another breeze rolled across the quad.

“I need some answers from you.”

“Well it depends on what you’re asking,” Dimitri said as he took a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and tapped them against his palm.

“Do you know who bumped off Spender?”

“That’s a tall order.”

“Did you set him up last night?”

Dimitri took a drag off the cigarette then exhaled a short plume of smoke. 

“I got an alibi if you’re interested,” he said confidently as he flicked away fresh ash.

“Let me guess; you were home all night, listened to the radio, brushed your teeth then went to bed like a good boy,” I replied as I shifted positions. 

“Nah, I’m not the homebody type. Never was good company.”

“I can see why. I honestly hate being around you at the moment.”

He laughed and placed the cigarette between his lips. His glance followed a co-Ed as she walked down the path towards the library. 

“Instead I was out following a tip.”

“A tip? Related to your boss Vincentti?” I questioned. 

“You could say that,” he replied, letting the statement hang in the air. It appeared I wasn’t going to get a simple answer. 

“Let’s go for a ride,” I said as I leaned forward and rose to my feet. The kid chuckled. 

“Are you arresting me?”

“Not yet, I just want a change of scenery. My car’s this way.” 

Dimitri pulled out another cigarette as we walked, waiting until he got in my car to light it. I turned on the radio so I wouldn’t have to talk with him on the drive to the precinct. We would have plenty to talk about once we got there.

Upon arriving, I got the attention of the older uniform at the desk who led us to a vacant interrogation room. I handcuffed the kid to the table and told him to stay put as I left to find the captain.

Skinner tucked a thick file under his arm as we entered the room. I closed the door and took a seat across the table. Skinner handed me the folder. 

“Dimitri Kristoff. Or should I say Alex Krycek,” I began as I turned the page, “you’ve got a record colorful enough to hang in a gallery.” I thumbed through a series of reports. “Petty theft, bribery, breaking and entering, minor assault, and this last one - public indecency? Don’t see that too often.” I watched him shift uncomfortably in his chair. His eyes found the corner of the room and carved a path back to focus on his hands.

“A guy’s gotta make a living,” Krycek said flatly.

“Well Alex, you must have been deep up shit creek,” I said reaching the end of his file. “I want to know a few things.”

“You’ve got it all there in front of you, detective.” He gestured with a cuffed hand. “Besides I already told you everything I know.”

“Actually you haven’t. I want to know set us up that night? What was your gain in all of this?” I questioned as Skinner rounded the edge of the table. I let Krycek idle for a moment and think. He looked towards the ceiling. 

“Can I get a smoke? I got a pack in my pocket.” 

I shot Skinner a look then leaned over to uncuff one of Krycek’s hands. He cleared his throat as he reached in his shirt pocket for cigarettes and a matchbook.

“I was in a bad way when I came home from the Pacific. Better off than the boys who didn’t of course, but I was still living alone, scraping by. Did you serve Detective?”

“Marines,” I said curtly.

“Ah. Semper Fi,” he said with a quick salute, “ I was in the Army myself. I couldn’t find a decent job when I got back to the States so I got involved with a fair amount of indecent work. I tended bar at one of Vincenti’s haunts. After a conversation one night I was asked to drive them to a job they were pulling. I had driven a troop transport while I was overseas, so I figured how hard could it be? I signed on with no questions asked.” Krycek flicked a match and lit his waiting cigarette. “I put my lead foot to good use and the more jobs I ran, the more green I had for my pockets. Shakedowns and bank jobs were fine but when the heroin came into the picture I knew I needed to find a way out. I had seen enough of that when I was over there, lost a few friends to it when we got home.”

“So that’s when your moral compass pointed north?” Skinner asked. 

“I got involved with a dame. She was a honey of a blonde named Marita who was in deeper with Vincenti than I realized. She worked at a nice club the crew would frequent. I chatted her up one night and she said I was different than the others. Well, she played me for a fool. She had a strong addiction that I helped fuel and it got her killed.” Krycek let the cigarette hang on his lower lip. “Hell of a dame.”

“Okay. So the motive was revenge,” I said as I rose from my chair. “Sounds simple enough. Thought you could single-handedly take down a mob boss because of a woman. Change of heart, realized the error of your ways, and all that.”

“Why get two of my best detectives involved in the first place Krycek if you wanted to handle this yourself,” said Skinner from his corner. 

“The top vice unit would have easily wrapped this up with a ribbon,” Krycek responded as he twisted the butt of the cigarette into the ashtray. “Apparently Detective Spender didn’t play by the rules. But that wasn’t my department.” 

I was growing impatient and paced the far side of the room. 

“Son, you better elaborate,” Skinner said with arms folded tightly.

“I’m stating that the detective might have had another agenda at that meeting. He might have been linked up with them longer than you realized. Maybe he was working as a mole all along. Or, perhaps the goon didn’t want Johnny Law getting an extra cut from the drop so he cut him out of the picture.” Krycek mimed two shots with a finger gun. He sat there grinning like a dirty rat. I ran a hand over my face and let my palm rest on the side of my jaw, feeling the muscles tighten. My eyes darted in Skinner’s direction then back at Krycek. 

CRACK

I felt my new scar tissue stretch and tear as I swung a right cross that plowed into his cheekbone. The impact knocked him sideways but not entirely to the floor thanks to the thin chain keeping him tethered to the table. I rubbed my knuckles and backed away, waiting for a retaliation.

“Mulder!” shouted Skinner as he stepped in between, “You’re dismissed.” 

I rolled my wrist and watched Krycek adjust his jaw then situate himself in the chair. No blood yet but mine coursed through my veins like a superhighway. The fact I hadn’t left the room caused Skinner to approach me. 

“Leave. Now Detective,” he said with a deep tone to his voice. I exhaled and obeyed with a heated walk to the bullpen.


	3. Chapter 3

Arlington National Cemetery

One week later

9:17 am

Leaves rustled in the trees overhead as the honor guard reloaded and repositioned their rifles. The sharp bang, like a hit on a snare drum, echoed through the eerie calm of the cemetery. I could feel it happening again. Everytime I thought I was past this nonsense it kept coming back. I wanted to close my eyes but it would have brought me back to the mud and rain of Wake Island. When you’ve been knee deep in death you never forget it. I could still smell the humid air, the burnt powder, the smoke.

I closed my eyes for a moment and balled my fist tighter as images clear as photographs flashed before me. Three years ago, I donned the dress blues and watched a soldier from my company laid to rest. It felt like I was having a heart attack as I listened to the twenty-one guns and the cries of his grieving widow. Fingers pressed hard creating a thick new line in my palm and my flashback dissolved. 

Each shot up to this point was torture. My salute wavered with the final pop and I felt the elephant on my chest move aside, allowing me to breathe a little. A bead of sweat broke free from under my hatband and took a slow slide down my temple. The back of my neck prickled. I swallowed hard and moved to parade rest as the honor guard queued up and left the gravesite. My fingers slowly loosened their curl and I felt the circulation return to the tips. Once the ringing in my ears stopped I was able to appreciate the sound of silence. 

It was a small group of mourners, mainly fellow Marines from Spender’s company and a few officers from the precinct. He had no wife, no kids, not sure if his mother was still alive. Seems that the only family representative was his father. Jeffrey had the distinction of a military funeral at Arlington due to his rank and heroics at Guadalcanal. At the drop of a hat he would tell the story about surviving hand-to-hand combat and rescuing a senior officer during a nighttime raid. I’m sure each time he retold it, that fish got a little bigger. At any rate, he’s now buried amongst other honorable men. His father was able to cut through any red tape like a hot knife through butter to make it happen. And almost as if on cue I spied the old man in his expensive dark striped suit accepting condolences. I recognized him through the smoke cloud that hung around like a bad party guest. I suppose he could feel my eyes on him because he headed my direction. He gestured to another older gentleman, who I assumed was his driver, and continued his approach. It was the first time I was able to truly observe him. He had all the obvious characteristics of old D.C. politics; dower demeanor, rigid walk, air of superiority.

“Sir, I’m sorry for your loss,” I said flatly as he approached. The scent of Morleys invaded my nose.

“Thank you, mister -?” He asked while offering a perfunctory handshake. 

“Mulder,” I replied as I shook his hand then tugged at my uniform jacket. 

“Ah yes,” he practically hissed, “You were Jeffrey’s partner in the vice unit. Keeping the city safe from crime and debauchery.” The cigarette smoking man took one more drag then let the stick hang on his lower lip. “My son had great potential. To be killed in the line of duty is a tragedy.”

I didn’t know what type of condolence to offer. I wasn’t great friends with his son in the first place, it was a professional relationship and not much more.

“The precinct lost a good detective,” I finally managed to say. Jesus, that felt bitter on my tongue. I licked my lips, hoping this conversation would soon be over; my pleasantries were skating on thin ice. The Smoking Man stubbed out his cigarette and rattled off something about his resources that could aid in our murder investigation. Apparently he and the commissioner were old chums and justice would be swift. Then he took the cue and left. I stole a deep breath and watched him head towards his driver then enter a large black Cadillac that was parked at the base of the knoll. 

My feet hit the pathway just as I heard my name being called from over my shoulder. I paused and turned to see Captain Skinner walking my direction. 

“Just had a conversation with Spender’s old man.” I said.

“Is that so?” He questioned as he removed his glasses.

“Turns out he has the district police in his pocket so my services might not be needed with this investigation,” I said sarcastically.

“Did he know your connection to the case?”

“He knows I was Spender’s partner, but not that I was at the scene.” 

Skinner squared his jaw then continued to walk past me away from the thinning crowd. I followed.

“I’m awaiting the final report from the coroner. They found something of interest on the autopsy.”

“A different cause of death? Figured the gunshots were obvious,” I said.

“There was additional bloodwork. I’m not certain what the M.E. was looking for, which is why I want the final report.” He stopped and faced me. “Mulder, I don’t typically recommend this course of police action however this is a unique situation.” 

“Sir?”

“I want you to use whatever channels you have available. Legal or -- otherwise. Use the boys in forensics to your advantage. See if you can get that report and keep this ‘eyes only.”

I raised an eyebrow at the request. It’s not everyday your boss asks you to operate in the gray. Then it clicked.

“You want to keep this hush-hush.”

“I want to keep the reputation of this precinct and my vice unit intact,” he replied cryptically. I could only nod and watch as he slowly left for his car. I took an opposite path. There was a humming in my head that I wanted to knock loose with a stroll.

Flanked by rows of white crosses on green hills I continued along the pathway and suddenly saw a familiar flash of red. She was standing at a simple headstone, adjusting a small arrangement of flowers. Out of respect I waited until she stepped away onto the path before I approached.

“Excuse me,” I called from behind with a casual wave of my hand. When she looked over her shoulder I knew it was her.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry to bother you, miss,” I began but clammed up when I saw those pools of blue. In that instant, that split second, it’s like I forgot the damn English language. My feet kept moving and I tried to say something.

“It’s no bother,” she said, thankfully.

“Are you by chance a nurse at Washington General?” I finally sputtered as we stopped walking. She nodded then thought for a moment, her arms hugged her petite frame.

“You look familiar,” she said with a delicately pointed finger, “Have we met before?” 

“We have,” I replied. She cautiously moved closer to size me up. She surveyed my uniform and I felt like I was back in the barracks.

“You were the -- detective, right? -- who worked on a last name basis?”

“That’s my calling card. The name’s Mulder,” I said, “Remind me yours?”

“Dana Scully,” she said with a hint of a polite smile.

_ Scully. _ There it was. The stray thread was pulled and unraveled the memory of her name, each and every letter. She continued, 

“How’s your shoulder?”

“Almost back to my pitching prime.” I replied as I gave it a roll. I had to watch myself with this one. Memory like a steel trap. Her head tilted curiously to the side. 

“You clean up nice.” There was a quick flush to her cheeks as she took a small step back, wishing that remark stayed to herself. I smiled and now it was my turn to shift gears.

“I saw you laying down some flowers.” I said, curiosity getting my proverbial cat. Her lips pressed together. 

“My father,” she said, “He is - was - a captain in the Navy. It was six years ago; Midway. I like to keep his flowers fresh if I can.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I replied with the only thing I could muster. Her statement was simple but knocked the wind out of my sails. Scully dipped her head and nodded. She then asked,

“Do you have someone here?”

“I’ve got a couple guys from my company, though I don’t visit too often. But today was my partner.”

“Oh,” she said softly, “It’s a funny state of the world when you can have a conversation about who you lost as easy as asking ‘how’s the weather.’”

For a moment I had nothing to say. A thousand scenarios ran through my head. I wanted to know more, I wanted to know everything about her. There was a natural beauty of course but something about her mind reeled me in. I cleared my throat. This chat was on the verge of getting cozy but seemed out of place in the current setting.

“May I walk you to your car?” 

“Thank you but I’ll be fine. My sister is waiting for me. Besides, we only just met.” A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.” 

Playing coy, I liked that.

“Well then, good day Miss Scully.” 

“Good day Mr. Mulder.” She shook my hand and lingered for a moment. “If you’re ever in Georgetown look me up. Hopefully we can meet again.” 

“I sincerely hope so,” I said. She turned heel and left me on the path. The curve of her pencil skirt, a flutter of the hem, the lines of her smart blouse made the goodbye feel less permanent. I listened to a breeze sweep through the tree line then I backtracked to where I was parked. 

I needed to get out of this uniform.

  
  


Hegal Place

Alexandria, VA

My apartment felt stale. I forced open a window to let in some fresh air. In the wardrobe hung one clean, pressed dress shirt along with my police dress blues. Of course the only shirt remaining was the one I wore the night Spender was killed. The good thing about an old jaded dry cleaner is you get quality work and little questions. I sipped my coffee and remembered I might have a vacation shirt stashed away in a drawer. As I donned the new shirt I heard the phone ring. I was waiting for a call from the boys in forensics who were a little too eager to give me a hand. 

“Mulder? It’s Frohike.”

“What have you found?”

“As you know, Langley and I were able to fish out a casing from the bathroom stall door, the back wall and a sneaky little devil in the bar. Turns out these paired nicely with the one lodged in Spender’s abdomen.”

“Who’d the weapon belong to?”

“Carlo Lodi.” Frohike asked. I scanned through the mugshot portfolio in my head. There he was. A hulking brute nicknamed The Titan who was quick with a fist and a trigger.

“Yeah. He’s one of Vincenti’s favorite enforcers.”

“We’ve seen his handiwork before,” Frohike continued, “He leaves a real pretty signature, although he’s usually a little more precise. Execution style seems to be his forté.”

“That’s what I thought when I was at the scene. I still don’t know if he intended to take me out as well.”

“Just like you to get in the way, Mulder.” There was a chuckle in the other end of the phone.

“Hey Frohike, has the final report come in from the M.E.?” 

“Ah, funny you should mention that. I have a preliminary copy and it shows that there was heroin in his system.”

“Shit,” I stated after a pause.

“What is it?”

“It means Krycek was right.”


	4. Chapter 4

3rd District Precinct

Washington, DC

  
  


The modest forensics lab was situated in the basement of the precinct building. A fitting location. It was always a strange trip downstairs, almost like walking into a spook house at an amusement park. You’d notice every creak from the antiquated filing cabinets, there were shelves of textbooks, yellowing medical journals, rows of glass jars containing shriveled specimens. The morgue was tucked away in a corner with a series of metal doors on the tiled wall and a surprisingly shiny slab resting comfortably over a drain in the floor. No more room at the inn by the look of it. Autopsy tools hung neatly on the wall like a butcher’s knife set; at least in this corner the boys kept things tidy. I walked a little deeper into the lab and saw Byers flipping through an issue of National Geographic. I cleared my throat as I approached.

“Mulder. What brings you to our neck of the woods?” Byers asked, dropping the magazine in his lap. The 3rd was fortunate enough to have three pillars of forensic science in Melvin Frohike, Richard Langley, and John Byers. They had their finger on the pulse of crime investigation techniques and were eager to share their findings with practically anyone who would listen. A good deal of the jargon went over my head but it enhanced my vocabulary to say the least. 

“Frohike called me regarding Spender’s case,” I replied, “We might have a golden ticket on our hands.” 

“He and Langley have been upstairs for a while but they should return soon. Have a seat.” He motioned to a wooden stool near a cluttered lab counter. I obliged. Byers was not much of a talker when he was by himself so his attention shifted back to busywork. I picked at the rough edge of my thumb watching Byers place a metal canister on the end of the counter. He opened it then took a sample of a dark substance, added it to the boiling water, and adjusted the flame on the Bunsen burner changing the intensity. He looked up at the wall clock and turned back to his experiment. The color change in the beaker shifted to a dark brown. Byers gave it a stir and covered the top. He sensed my curiosity.

“Coffee will be ready in a few minutes if you’d like some.”

I laughed and politely declined.

“Don’t you have a percolator?”

“Now where’s the fun in that?” Just then Frohike and Langley entered the lab.

“Oh good. You’re here,” said Frohike as he reached for a nearby lab coat, slipped into the sleeves and flipped it up onto his shoulders.

“We had a whale of a meeting upstairs,” Langley added, shoving a worn out briefcase across the counter making an open space, “Looks like Spender’s dirty little secret is out.”

“Krycek, my informant, pegged him as a hop head. I knew Spender could be a little on edge but I thought he was too straight-laced to use heroin.” I folded my arms. “What did Skinner have to say?” 

“The boss was none too pleased to find out that one of their top boys was on the horse.” Langley stated.

“And a thoroughbred at that. He was probably dipping into Vincenti’s supply.” Frohike remarked as he adjusted his glasses.

I sighed and shook my head. Byers poured his scientific brew into a small mug for himself and took a sip before saying, “Well there’s your motive.”

His colleagues shrugged in agreement as they each grabbed a cup of coffee.

“Makes you wonder if he was just starting out and got careless,” Langley said.

“Or he had been knee deep in the shit since making a deal, overconfidence took over, he couldn’t pay up and then  _ blammo _ ,” I said as I stood and leaned against the lab counter. Something about this seemed too easy. We had the gunman, we had a relatively clear motive, and we had the Captain scrambling to stuff this whole matter back under the rug. I needed to track down The Titan and put the squeeze on him for some information. Though with a newly buried partner I would need a second set of eyes on my surveillance job.

“Well boys, it’s been a treat but I have to make some telephone calls.”

“Hey Mulder,” Frohike called, “you should take some time for yourself; slow down for a day maybe.”

“That’s what whiskey is for.” I replied as I left the lab and took the stairs, not knowing what I’d walk into when I hit the bullpen.

Several officers didn’t bat an eye as I passed by their desks and I continued to avoid any eye contact as I glanced at my wristwatch. I reached my desk and pulled the phone closer as I took a seat, picking up the receiver. My index finger hovered over the rotary and just as I started to pull the number I heard the distinct baritone of Captain Skinner calling my name. It wasn’t bellowed so I knew I wasn’t being called in to serve detention for misconduct. I placed both hands on my desk and stood then met him at his office door. He blocked the threshold.

“Have you heard?” he asked.

“Yes. I was just down in forensics. I came up here to get started on what I presume is a surveillance assignment.”

Skinner thought for a moment.

“I want you to get a hold of Krycek. He’s going to accompany you on this detail.”

“Oh he’ll be thrilled.”

“Go on then,” Skinner said as he tensed his jaw, “And get me some goddamn answers.”

Georgetown Waterfront

1:05 p.m.

Rain tapped angrily against the roof of the unmarked cruiser as I sat parked down the block from the Piccola Italia restaurant. It was a hole in the wall but a well known haunt for some of Vincenti’s crew. I hoped Carlo Lodi would be tempted by a lunch special of pasta arrabiata and cheap wine. My deli sandwich and soda I grabbed before the cloudburst paled in comparison, but I needed something in my stomach. I took another bite and watched a series of passersby through the streaks of rain on the window. I was early. I adjusted the radio dial and finished my lunch. With a swipe of the wiper blade I noticed a black coupe pull up in front of the restaurant. The door popped open and a hulking figure exited the passenger side, adjusted his jacket, and stepped under the awning out of the rain. He waited for his driver to join him before opening the front door. Just then there was a knock on my window. Krycek had his collar pulled up and drips of water cascaded off the brim of his hat. I rolled the window down to get a better look.

“You gonna let me in?”

“I don’t know if I can afford it.”

“Damnit Mulder...”

“It’s unlocked, Krycek.” I said as I looked at the empty passenger seat then rolled up the window, catching a splash of rain. He crossed in front of the car and waited for traffic to clear before opening the door. He sighed as he removed his hat and brushed off the rainwater. 

“Alright fill me in,” Krycek said. I turned down the radio and had the last swig of soda. 

“Recognize the car down there?” I began. He leaned forward and caught a glimpse as the wiper blade swiped the windshield.

“That looks like Carlo Lodi’s coupe.”

“He’s not alone. His lunch date is a suit that’s either a driver or a business partner, if you get my meaning. They’ve been in there for maybe ten minutes so if I move I can get what I need before his main course arrives.”

“Okay then,” Krycek said as he put his hat back on. 

“I’m just going to have a nice conversation. I need to get him talking. If I get him back to the precinct I can be more heavy-handed.” I adjusted my fedora and touched my weapon for reassurance. 

“You’re not saying “ _ we _ ” a whole lot. What the hell did you need me for?”

“At first I had you joining me on spoiling Lodi’s lunch but then I thought he might recognize you as a mole so you get to stay put. Keep the car running. If things take a turn I want you to head to the 3rd; with or without me. Ask for Captain Skinner.”

“Aw shucks this feels just like old times,” Krycek replied as he fished out a beat-up pack of Morleys shaking a stick loose. He pulled it out with his teeth then tipped his head down as he flipped his lighter, marrying flame to paper, blessing the squad car with a halo of smoke. Car tires splashed through wet pavement and I took that as my cue to get this show on the road. I opened the door and stepped onto the curb. The rain had slacked up as I walked. I narrowly avoided an umbrella being opened by an old man exiting a taxi. He continued on like I wasn’t even there.

Piccola Italia’s brick facade with its windows dressed in red and white gingham curtains fit the stereotype, as much as I hate to admit. But none of that mattered when I stepped inside and was hit with the aroma of bread, oil, and garlic. If I didn’t have a more pressing obligation I would have claimed a table and ordered a plate. I flashed my badge to the young woman at the cashier’s counter and she quickly nodded then went back to straightening menus. I moved past dark wood tables with diners enjoying an array of pastas and soups. My instinct led me through the dining room and I happened upon a curved booth tucked in a back corner near the kitchen. Lodi was there with his driver, luckily still just the two of them. He was reading the sports page from the newspaper and folded it in half then tapped a finger against it.

“That fuckin’ horse is gonna make me a stack of green, I’m telling ya.” He boasted with a laugh.

“Excuse me, Mr. Lodi?” I asked as I approached his table. He put down the paper and took a sip from his glass of wine and gave me a quizzical look.

“Can I help you?”

“Yeah I believe you can.” I carefully reached for my badge and flipped it open. “Detective Fox Mulder. I just want to chat.”

“And what makes you think I want to listen, detective?”

“I see you got the sports section there. What’s your game? Baseball, football?”

Lodi shot a look at his driver and gestured towards my direction. 

“This guy...if you must know Mr Mulder, I like the races.”

I took a seat across from him and folded my arms. Then I truly realized how much of a mountain this man was. His square jawline met a thick neck that was being held together by a stiff shirt collar and silk tie. I was waiting for it to burst open with each swallow. Broad shoulders and a barrel chest led to limbs that were solid muscle. The ring on his left pinky finger was about the size of a doorknob and had an insignia in the center. His pin-striped suit looked custom given his proportions. I got a little too comfortable and leaned forward in my chair, threading my fingers together.

“About a week ago, did you talk to a Jeffrey Spender about a horse race. Maybe come to collect a bet?” The mention of the name caught Lodi’s attention and he picked up on my code. Before he could respond, a waiter saddled up to the table and delivered a plate of pasta with a fiery red sauce. Lodi took another sip of wine.

“If I had to come collect you know there was a good reason for it,” he said as he twisted pasta on his fork then took a bite. The other man at the table started to undo his cuffs and slowly roll up his shirt sleeves.

“Well on behalf of the 3rd District precinct, I’d like to invite you over for a little heart to heart.,” I maintained a relaxed facade even though I knew what was coming, “We’ve got evidence placing you at a bar in Adams Morgan the same night as Spender.” Lodi ate another bite and closed his eyes savoring the spice. As he took his wine glass he raised his pinky finger which was the signal. I blinked and then I swear to God I saw enough stars to grace the American flag. A meaty Italian right hook slammed into my cheek like a sledgehammer. Glad he wasn’t wearing a ring. I was knocked sideways to the floor and I tried to catch the nearby table but instead let a dining chair unceremoniously break my fall. I never could take a hit. The few patrons in the restaurant barely took notice at the commotion. Carlo dabbed at the corner of his mouth and rose from his seat.

“Thank you, Theo,” he said as he moved over to pat my assailant’s shoulder. The enforcer’s goon cracked his knuckles and stood looking very pleased with himself. I moved my tongue to the inside of my cheek tasting fresh blood. I adjusted myself to sit upright, though not ready to stand just yet. I snatched a neatly folded napkin from one of the empty place settings and tried to dam the small crimson river from my mouth. Carlo crouched down next to me.

“So, you thought you could just walk into this fine establishment, disrupt my meal, and arrest me?”

“Until now it hasn’t stopped me,” I mumbled against the napkin. 

“Unless you got a warrant in hand, I’m not going anywhere. And this business with who was it...Spender? That’s done and so are you.”

“Why don’t you just bump me off like you did him?” I asked as I tossed the bloody napkin aside. Carlo thought for a moment and leaned in closer.

“I like seeing you get knocked around every once in a while, Detective Mulder. Puts a smile on my face.” He blessed me with two exaggerated slaps on the cheek then got to his feet. “I think we’re finished here. Theo, show this son of a bitch the way out.” Carlo returned to his meal and raised a glass in my direction. I was still on my ass. I reached for my fedora and Theo took the liberty of hoisting me to my feet. The gorilla hands that left a new beauty mark gripped my upper arms and shoved me towards the kitchen.

“Easy there junior, my dance card is full.” I said as we moved through a swinging door. I was briefly distracted by the aroma of simmering marinara, stewing beef, and an array of spices. The sous chef and line cooks unphased by the disturbance continued prepping as I was hustled towards the back door and pushed out into the alley. I stumbled into the brick wall across the way and before I could turn around to get the final say, the goon slammed the metal door shut.  My head tilted back and I gingerly rolled it from side to side.  I adjusted the brim on my hat and shuffled down the alley towards the street.

The rain had passed and I found Krycek parked where I left him. He had a fresh cigarette in his lips and was reclined against the car seat. I tapped on the window and he unrolled it letting the rhythm of Count Bassie and his orchestra glide onto the sidewalk. 

“Looks like negotiations went well,” he said with a chuckle.

“Yeah you could say that,” I replied. My cheek felt like someone was inflating a balloon under the surface. I needed a drink. A wisp of smoke swirled out of the window and Krycek flicked the butt into a puddle. 

“Take the car back to the precinct.”

“What?”

“You can leave it running with the doors open if you want.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Take some advice I was given earlier today and get some rest. This case isn’t going cold anytime soon.” I watched as Krycek shifted gears and pulled away from the curb. There was a pang of mistrust thinking that the unmarked squad car would end up somewhere along the Potomac; but I also got the suspicion that Alex liked playing detective. Also long as I kept him on a short leash I could use him to my advantage. I crossed the street and walked the block until I found a phone booth. Before I slid open the door I had to spit out the stale blood that was collecting in my mouth. My cheek burned like fire. I picked up the receiver and dialed the operator.

“Yes I’m looking for a Dana Scully. Georgetown address.”


	5. Chapter 5

The phone rang three times before she answered. My jaw ached as I tried to mask the slur in my voice when I told her who was calling. I realized it was a long shot ringing her number but I needed something to get my head on straight. I told her I was in Georgetown and as luck would have it she did not have a shift at the hospital that evening. She accepted my invitation to have a drink. I confirmed her address and I said I would wait outside the building to meet her, adding to look for the forlorn gentleman with a grey fedora. We disconnected and I exited the booth then walked to the curb to hail a cab. 

Scully’s apartment building was tucked into a quiet tree-lined block on Q Street. In a town built on history this neighborhood dripped vintage charm with neat colonial rowhouses and brick sidewalks. I paced a slow line in front of the staircase then stretched a foot on the bottom step. The sound of a door opening and heel clicks on brickwork caught my attention. There she was. A vision in a short-sleeved olive green sweater with a high neck, wide-leg trousers gave way to dark t-strap shoes that peeked out from under her pant cuffs. Her ginger-red hair was pinned up halfway and decorated with a small flower. I straightened up and tried to smile as she landed on the last step. 

“God, what happened to you?” she questioned before I could even greet her properly. 

“And hello to you too.” I replied.

“Oh, your cheek,” Scully frowned, “This reminds me of when we first met.” She inspected my face without laying a finger on me. I tipped back my hat slightly so she could get a better look. In the afternoon sun her eyes processed a diagnosis and she reached out a caring hand to touch my jawline but withdrew it quickly. Fingers formed a loose fist instead as her hand dropped slowly towards her hip. I cleared my throat.

“Serves me right for interrupting someone’s lunch, huh?”

“Must have been someone important for them to leave a mark like that,” Scully said, stepping back and adjusting her handbag. I shrugged then said,

“No, just me being a nosy cop.” I found myself staring as she smiled.

“So now that we’re here, where are we off to?”

“There’s a little place I visit when I’m in the neighborhood.” I slipped my hands in my pockets and gestured with a nod down the block. She joined me at my side and we strolled for a few silent moments. Her presence helped to mute the extra noise in my head. Though with each intersection we crossed I was still checking my corners, making sure we weren’t being followed. After the little scene I caused at the restaurant my guard was up. I knew I could never be too comfortable with my surroundings and I certainly didn’t want to put her in danger.

We walked farther down Q street and crossed over to 33rd to a small bar named The Blue Note. I opened the door for her and followed inside. It was your standard set-up with a small stage on the side arranged for a jazz combo. Too early for a gig, so the jukebox in the corner played the matinee performance. Regalia from the university littered the walls but in a more dignified fashion, like the proprietor was trying to distance the establishment from looking like a run-of-the-mill college bar. Still, it was dark, smoky, and my kind of familiar. Only a couple of bar flies had landed to start their day-drinking. I ushered her through a fresh haze of cigarette smoke to an empty spot at the far end of the bar. She took a seat and I adjusted my barstool, sitting close but not too close. Scully caught the attention of the stout bartender.

“I’d like a vodka tonic and my friend here will have?”

“Whiskey.” 

The man nodded and scuttled back to fix our drinks. I put my fedora on the bar and ran a hand through my hair.

“Can you tell me about this case you’re working on?” Scully asked as she placed her handbag in her lap. I thought about how much I wanted to divulge so I kept the names and places to a minimum.

“It involves a drug ring, fairly standard for the vice unit. However the fly in the ointment is that it also involves an investigation into my partner.”

“Wait, the one who was buried at Arlington?”

“The very same,” I answered as the bartender delivered two short glasses. I grasped the drink and raised it, she mimicked the motion. “Cheers,” I said before taking a long sip and swirling the ice cube around. Scully sampled her drink as well and I continued.

“The papers painted it that he was killed in the line of duty. Now, I was there that night. It was the same night I got a hot lead kiss on the shoulder and I think my partner was bumped off in a deal that went sour.”

“Your partner was a hophead?” she asked as she twisted the bottom of her glass on the bar napkin.

“I didn’t suspect he was a hophead,” I said after I downed the last of my whiskey, “but the medical examiner ordered blood work that confirmed he was sky high.”

“Did you see who shot at you?” she asked after a beat, tracing a fingertip along the edge of the highball. 

“No, but we did get a match on the weapon. So all I need to do is take him in .”

“Let me guess, that’s who gave you the bruise.”

“Very perceptive Scully. It was one of his goons actually.” I said as I rubbed my left cheek and glanced reflexively over my shoulder. She held her glass close to her lips and thought for a moment before taking another sip to finish it off. Scully pressed her lips together and focused on her now empty glass. I caught the change in music from the jukebox; a heavy piano piece that fit the tone in our little corner of the bar. I flagged the bartender and ordered another round. She was hesitant at first on the refill but I guess she didn’t mind my company and decided to stick around. Time seemed to slow to a halt, dripped down like molasses on a winter day.

“Enough about me and the DCPD, I want to know your story.”

“ _ My _ story, Mulder? I don’t think I’m as interesting as all that,” Scully said as she glanced at her hands, admiring the tidy red varnish on the nails.

“Try me,” I replied as our second round arrived and my attention was now only on her.

“Let’s see...you already know I’m a nurse,” she began with a gesture, “I’ve been one since before the war. Schooling was no cost and once the conflict started I opted to stay home in Maryland to fill the nursing shortage. My brothers had gone through the gauntlet at the naval academy and were sent to San Diego then the South Pacific respectively. It would have broken my mother’s heart if I joined up and got shipped off too” She paused and took a drink. “My sister and mother stayed in Annapolis but in ‘45 I headed to Washington to continue with medicine. There was more I wanted to learn and more ways I felt I could help.”

“And that’s how you ended up in Georgetown?”

She nodded and softly exhaled.

“After I buried my father, I buried myself in studies, work, and other hobbies. I figured if I kept myself busy enough I wouldn’t have time to think about the loss.” Her shoulders shrugged and she absentmindedly toyed with a strand of hair then swept it behind her ear.

“Any travel in that time?” I asked, hoping she had an answer. I was shit at small talk when I wasn’t using my badge.

“California after the war ended to see my brother Bill and his family for Christmas, then last year I took the train up to New England for a change of scenery.”

“Ah, I’m familiar with that area. My parents live on Martha’s Vineyard.”

“It’s really lovely. I was fortunate to visit in the fall.” A hint of a smile crossed her lips as she recalled the memory. A pleasant silence then fell between us. More small talk followed, less personal this go around. Filler subjects like the weather and sports weaved their way into conversation. I was pleased to learn she was a baseball fan and was hoping for a better season than last year. 

The bar was getting more clientele and as much as I wanted to stay and extend my friendship with Mr Jack Daniels, I figured we should make it last call. I paid our tab and escorted Scully outside, placing a featherweight touch on her shoulder as I guided her through the open door. The air felt cool as the sun hid behind passing clouds, setting up for another storm. She thanked me for the drinks and though she was a captain’s daughter who could certainly hold her liquor, I offered to walk her home. 

As we turned the corner and walked back up the block I still felt that we weren’t alone. I kept a close stride next to Scully as we neared her building. She ascended the steps and I joined her at the door. This time her hand found my cheek. 

“I hope to see you again,” she said as she gently stroked my jawline, “But next time without any occupational damage.” 

“Can’t make any promises, doll,” I said moving closer, feeling her fingers twitch, catching a flutter of her eyelashes as she exhaled. My gaze was soft, hypnotized by her features. She grazed the stubble on my skin then Scully raised her chin and placed a soft sweet kiss on my injured cheek. 

“Take care of yourself, detective.”

Through the narrow pane of glass on the building’s door I watched her walk up the stairs, she looked back over her shoulder giving me a final flash of that flower nestled against her red hair. As I turned and walked down the steps I noticed a car parked across the street and a man with a sharp suit and glasses leaning against the side.

“Are you following me?” I called out once I was on the sidewalk, my hand on the butt of my weapon.

“This is your surveillance detail?” Skinner questioned.

“Chivalry isn’t dead yet, Captain.”

“Something’s come up. Get in,” Skinner said as he motioned to the car. I walked around the front of the cruiser and opened the passenger door joining him inside.

“I heard about your incident with Carlo Lodi today.”

“Word travels fast.”

“You’re damn right it does, Mulder. This city is more connected than ever. I had a conversation with our friend Alex Krycek when he returned the squad car you lent him. Seems that he was privy to information regarding a Vincenti heroin shipment tonight.”

“Ha! What did you have to trade for  _ that _ info?” I asked. He tensed his jaw then said,

“Continued protection. It appears he’s been sitting on this since we first interrogated him.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“There will be a boat arriving at the Navy Yard tonight. Small crew. They are going to make a transfer to one of the warehouses, but it’s up to you to find how they’re moving the shipment from there.”

I took a moment to process the details of my assignment. 

“Will I have back-up?”

“Via radio. Do not engage after you make the mark. Follow standard tailing procedure.”

“If you’re going to send me on a suicide mission, can you at least drop me off in Alexandria. I could use a shower and something to eat.” Skinner gave me a sideways glance and turned the key in the ignition, bringing life to the cruiser. He shifted into gear and we were on our way back across the Potomac.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is an homage to noir fiction, inspired by such authors as Ellroy, Hammett, and Chandler. I have always enjoyed this storytelling style and thought the X-Files characters would fit perfectly. It has been a very long road getting to where I was ready to post this. 
> 
> Thanks as always for reading!


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